Writing about what's REAL

I heartily invite you to go to my new blog: "Writing what's real" at the link below: http://writingwhatsreal.blogspot.com

This entry became the first entry in my newest blog (of the same title as this post). I eagerly welcome comments from you on any of my blogs. They are all works in progress (like each of us!).

If you like what you read, please consider 'following' my blogs. I am eager to hear about you--and to talk together about how we are meeting this great adventure of BEING ALIVE in our own ways.

I look forward to hanging out with you here!

Between Two Waves

Slip between two waves of the sea and see what happens . . .

“…the leaves were full of children, hidden excitedly, containing laughter…not known, because not looked for but heard, half-heard, in the stillness between two waves of the sea… We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. Quick now, here, now, always—a condition of complete simplicity (costing not less than everything)…” from 'THE FOUR QUARTETS' (T.S. Eliot)

Books have always been doorways for me. This passage found me at a crucial threshold: that vulnerable time when none of the stuff you grew up believing, sticks anymore. It was one of those unmistakable initiation passage-ways. A 23 year old in The Bodhi Tree bookstore (1970, Los Angeles) I browsed those shelves expecting to find the manual designed to escort me personally into my future. Every raw nerve jolted wide-awake as I began to read the first few stanzas of Eliot's book.

His description of our relationship with time, the universe, and the divine, made me feel as if I were pivoting on a razors edge between youthful curiosity and steadfast revelation. One side held my entire past and along with it, my sense of identity. The other side held my entire future—utterly unknown, yet bidding me to step off toward it and leave the known behind. Its strange how such leaps occur. We presume there is a decision to make. And yet, at the instant the very thought of making such a decision arises--the decision has already happened and we are simply being 'let in on it'! I was being cut loose from the tendrils of societal bondage. I could feel my bone marrow for the first time. I opened my eyes to a boundless realm of mysterious intimacy where the 'secrets of life' lay exposed. I was home.

Living ‘between two waves’ had been the only life I’d known—but until I happened upon Eliot's poetry, I'd had no idea that I was doing such a thing. I had learned how to cope with the continuous strife of navigating a terrain filled with emotional landmines by mastering the skills, which my survival required. At the same time, my confident façade hid a shaken, insecure, driven desperation, deep inside. It often felt as if Life, itself, were having a tug-of-war over my soul. Neither 'wave' was anyplace I wanted to be. The ‘space between’ was my sanity loophole of hidden solitude and guarded privacy. Here I would slip into an innocent secret world where the treacherous waves, on either side, could not find me. Was I actually the serene bastion of capability, upon whom others relied? OR was I really the insecure self-conscious kid whose sense of alienation, rebellion and resistance, must be kept constantly hidden? Such rotten choices seem to be avoidable if you simply 'live' somewhere else.

I had to wait more than two decades to discover this image, but ‘slipping between two waves’ had always been my intuitive way of finding an escape-valve. I continually made the choice to live in a realm that refused to chose sides. Through nature, through imagination, I found ways to ‘remove myself’ from the tug-of-war. In fact, I always felt that the ‘real me’ was the one whom no one knew existed. While neither of the polarized ‘selves’ was truly me.

The Four Quartets illuminated my perception with new understanding, I felt excited and reassured. Instead of seeing my childhood as personally flawed (something to hide from others), I glimpsed how it was simply part of a larger cyclic flow. The sense of being drained, by having to straddle two realities was instantly replaced by a passionate zeal to go deeper—to know more.

I began to read everything I could get my hands on, written by T.S. Eliot. It felt uncanny to me that he knew so much and that upon reading his words I knew that I had known it too—yet I had never known that I knew. Or, in discovering that such knowingness simply IS, a mere glimpse of promise hinted that I also, might gain the degree of insight and understanding, which this amazing poet possessed.

Man’s curiosity searches past and future
And clings to that dimension. But to apprehend
The point of intersection of the timeless
With time, is an occupation for the saint—
No occupation either, but something given
And taken, in a lifetime’s death in love,
Ardor, selflessness and self-surrender
For most of us, there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time.

from ‘DRY SALVAGES’ (T.S. Eliot)

So, Eliot opened a dimension for me, which resonated throughout my entire energy field. I would not be introduced to the term ‘energy field’ for many years to come, but at that point in my life, I was keenly aware of it’s existence. All thought my childhood, I had lived in wait of those 'unattended moments' and pounced upon them eagerly every chance I got.

Poets give form to the ineffable. The awareness of this magnificent realm: “…the intersection of the timeless with time…” brought marvelous promise of something I simply ‘knew’ I would ‘grow into’. My path opened before me, unseen, yet strongly recognized and there would be no turning back.

We are all quite familiar with this intimate essence, but mostly, we ignore it because we were never told about its true value. We miss the portal because we mistake it for the Nothing (that it truly is!) thinking that 'nothing' is a waste of our precious time. Everyone touches the ‘space between’ and perhaps the difference is that some of us notice it more, while others pay it less heed. I am grateful that I was ‘driven’ to run from a world where I would come to value, cherish and even guard, this ‘place between two waves’.

Perhaps you 'space out' and then you catch yourself. You 'come back'. You might even look around sheepishly to see if anyone noticed that you were 'gone'. Or you might pause between the in-breath and the out-breath (just letting lifeforce suspend itself on its timetable) and there is a deep letting go. Only then do you realize how tightly you've been holding on.

Next time you come face-to-face with a sense of emptiness, stillness, or 'the nothing', just try stopping. …In the forest beyond sound and silence …On a crowded street beyond the roaring cacophony, as all sound blurs into one droning hum. Zoom out, way out, until the obsessive magnet of 'mind-chatter' is but a tiny spot on a big map. Let everything else dissolve until IT (the vast stillness) is the only threshold in existence. Just for you. Just now. The price is forfeiting familiarity; the reward is touching true freedom.

Slip between two waves of the sea and see what happens . . .

SURGICAL HORIZONS, Part I: Gifts of pain, helplessness, loss of control

I was determined to get things done ahead of time (for once). While starting to pack my suitcase, the night before our 2 week family vacation, I surveyed my list. Everything checked off. I was buoyed by the splendid results of being so well organized. It felt like a dance; surely this was a good omen for our trip. The flight would require rising early and taking off with the car already packed. While sprinting boldly down our split level landing (where 3 steps take you down from the bedroom area to our living room below) I tripped over my own oomph. Flying into the air, I made a crash landing bracing the fall with my right arm.

"I think I've broken my shoulder. We need to go to the ER now." I told my husband, decisively.

At the E.R. they xrayed my entire arm and found only a broken wrist. I told the P.A. that my shoulder was killiing me. He said, "You've probably torn your muscles up pretty bad, and it will take time for them to heal. I was given a script for pain pills. "Have the orthopedic MD check it when you get back from vacation."

A few hours later we returned home just before midnight. The packing and other last minute stuff still waited. My broken wrist was splinted temporary and I was wearing a sling. There was no way I could lay on my shoulder and I passed the first of many fitfull nights sleeping poorly. But between the 2 of us we managed to make it to the airport next moring on time.

Our vacation was great. I didn't have to carry luggage, drive, or help my mother-in-law with the dishes. Showering was horrible: taping plastic wrap over my splint (which got wet anyway) & having to fix my hair with just one hand. Food fell from my fork when I ate because I've never managed to become ambidexterous. But while the rest of my family had fun, and took paddleboat rides on the lake, I nurtured my pain, guarded my arm and grappled with my sudden (unanticipated) loss of energy and vitality by resting, reading, staring off into space and mostly just BEING.

I loved it when we took drives because I became the 'little kid' in the back seat, just watching the world go by out the window, while the 'grown-ups' sat up front having conversations. Being a child, once more, I reinhabited that world where there was no need, nor interest in, the boring world of adults. Overnight it felt, I'd lost control of my abilities and my freedom. It was bizarre how this silly little accident catapulted me back into infantile vulnerability, helplessness, and simple presence. Life seemed to pass me by, in my dazed-out state. And I felt utterly relieved.

Back home, down to earth, and in the orthopedic office 2 weeks later, I got my purple cast applied and asked about my shoulder which still hurt like hell. They looked at the xrays again (because I asked them to) but seeing no problems with the bones, said "nothing is wrong". I would need 2 months off work (YES!!! That news thriiled mel) and physical therapy. It wasn't till I got my cast off 4 weeks later that anyone actually examined my shoulder. And that was only because I asked (again) about my painful shoulder, which was getting worse and worse. The P.A. acted as if she were hearing this news for the first time.

Doctors don't see patients anymore. Physician's Assistants do, instead, but they have neither the training, nor the experience, nor the instinct, which a Doctor has. It's becoming far too easy for patients to fall through the cracks. As a nurse, I have been noticing this trend in my professional setting. Now, I am learning what its like to be 'on the other side' and face the uphill struggle of being an advocate for oneself.

The MRI, which the P.A. finally ordered, showed "massive rotater cuff tendon tears". I have 3 of them completely "disrupted" and one hanging by a thread. My surgery will be in a couple of weeks because the doctor is going on vacation first. It still hurts like hell. But if I get a healthy new shoulder out of this it will all be worthwhile. Now I'm going to have 3 more months off work (except for the financial fiascos I feel like a kid at Christmas: my package contains the best gift I can imagine: TIME).

(next chapter: How TIME feels and what's required to actually inhabit it.)

Collective Heartbreak: Losing Identity

"It may be that we live in a time of collective heartbreak,
where for the first time in history we are being asked to witness
the disappearance and reappearance on a global scale
of what it means to be fully human..."

David Whyte: The Poetic Narrative Of Our Times

Poet, David Whyte, describes our plight quite well "...in a time of collective heartbreak...", he implores us to face our fear by fully embracing the Unknown, not only as the future unfolds, but at each and every moment. "At the center of our lives, in the midst of the busyness and the forgetting, is a story that makes sense when everything extraneous has been taken away." he suggests, hinting that deep within us, we already have what we need in order to cope with unfolding events. But how do we access this 'story' at the center of our lives?

David asserts that to discover our essential 'story' requires a conscious intimacy with Life's paradox: "...We learn, grow and become compassionate and generous as much through exile as homecoming; as much through loss as gain, as much through giving things away as in receiving what we believe to be our due..." In this article David gives us a 'survival manual' that describes the inner and outer territory, which awaits us. He suggests that the very cycles of loss/change, which provoke such fear, resistance and concern, actually show us the way forward if only we could stand back a bit farther, and see them from a broader perspective.

The ultimate trust might be to follow the lead already underway (on a global scale at this moment in time) and consciously agree to "...give away our identity and see how it is returned to us through a sincere participation in the trials and necessities of the coming years."

I find solace and relief in such outrageous suggestions. To 'give away our very identity itself' as David puts it, may be the missing link right in front of us. This resonates with what I am noticing in my own life: the more I stop struggling with loss/change, and fully embrace whatever arises within me (in response to whatever occurs), the more that facade of a restrictive 'me-persona' begins to crack, unhinge and dissolve.

Guarding the fabric of our (given) identity itself is what keeps us prisoner to the conditioning of lifetimes (the legacy of our genetic 'luck-of-the-draw' throughout time). Yet we cling without question to this very identity as if our survival depends upon it. But does it really? Have we ever actually questioned this assumption? Or experimented with it?

Perhaps, instead, the willing release of 'our identity' might point us toward a much more comprehensive, compassionate and available SURVIVAL on a level we simply cannot imagine from our more familiar 'me-persona' level of consciousness. What might it be like to see our greater collective survival as the precise thing, which matters most? Not to see this with our intellect alone, but to grok it in the cells of our shared Beingness itself?

Link to the entire article:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/david-whyte/the-poetic-narrative-of-o_b_378536.html

Opinion: David's long article is a 'difficult read' and can be hard to follow. Requires full, undivided attention, but is truly worth the trouble. Pearls of wisdom not dumbed-down for a quick, appealing read.